


Little Black Cat

by Sparcina



Series: Gotham at Night [10]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Between two humans, But not just any cat, Fluff and Humor, Gobblepot Halloween 2019, Hand Jobs, Jim gets a cat, M/M, Magic, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 09:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21241886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: Jim finds a black, blue-eyed cat on his doorstep the day after Oswald's disappearance.It's probably just a coincidence.





	Little Black Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Gobblepot Halloween!

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

The small, sickly thin black cat on his doorstep let out a meow that sounded equal parts threatening and pleading. Intrigued in spite of himself, Jim dumped his bag in the stairs and crouched, chuckling tiredly. Alley cats, especially those that were glaringly underfed and suspicious, tended to shy away from human contact.

That one, however, strutted towards his raised hand like a moth to a flame and rubbed his wet little muzzle against his bruised knuckles, purring happily.

Jim blinked. The bitter edge to his smile disappeared. “You look like you could use a good meal,” he rasped. He’d spent the day chasing a serial killer and screaming all over town, so it was no wonder his voice was raw. Perhaps some tea with honey, while the cat had some milk? Did he even _own _milk? He couldn’t remember.

God, he was tired.

“Come on in. You can stay for the night.”

*

The cat ended up staying more than one night.

He was also quite fussy for a famished animal. It outright refused to even taste the milk. Water, it would drink, but not nearly enough in Jim’s opinion. Not that his opinion on what the cat should eat, or many experts’, for that matter, made any difference: this enigma of a cat only ate whatever was in Jim’s plate.

When the stray jumped on the table and ended up paws first in his plate of spaghetti Bolognese, Jim ended up eating take-out with a shirt full of red stains that for once weren’t blood.

The next evening, he prepared two plates of what he was having and placed one on the floor.

The night after, he set a table for two and watched, puzzled, as the cat feasted on the roasted chicken _and _the steamed veggies with gusto.

“You sure aren’t a conformist, kitty.”

The cat snarled, which only prompted a throaty laugh out of him. Growing up, he’d never considered himself the type of person to pick up strays, but the girl, Cat, crashed on his sofa every third Wednesday of the month (he’d stake up extra protein bars and plenty of oatmeal cookies for those occasions), and now there was _the _cat. Jim didn’t try to give it a name, because it never responded to anything other than its own desires.

In the end, he settled for _kitty _out of convenience and decided that his flatmate’s outraged meows were quite entertaining.

*

He learned about Oswald’s disappearance eight days after the cat had decided to move in his cheap apartment.

The mobster had been missing for more than nine days by then, and Jim’s heart clenched at the thought that his body might be part of his next case.

He’d rather it wasn’t. While he was at it, he’d be really glad if no more killings happened in this city, but he would settle for no dead Oswald. He liked the little prick, even though he probably ought to cuff him, and not in the fun way.

He more than liked him, actually, but that was a secret he intended to take to the grave.

“I wish he’d stop being so reckless,” he mused out loud, rubbing the cat’s belly. He’d never seen a cat lie on its back to get a good belly rub and _not _try to bite off one finger or two, but he wasn’t questioning the miracle. This cat was unique, and unique things that were unthreatening in Gotham were pretty rare to find. “I followed some leads, but they’re all dead ends,” he ground out, thoroughly unsatisfied with what few clues he’d gathered. As though Gotham’s most infamous mobster had simply… vanished. He glanced down at the purring machine on his couch. “At least you’re gaining some weight. Can’t see your ribs quite so clearly anymore.”

The cat’s eyes followed the motion of his hand. They were clear blue, of a hue that reminded Jim of a certain cunning mobster’s gaze. And the way the cat welcomed his caresses, tilting its head, stretching out languidly to get more of his attention, more of _him_, reminded him of Oswald as well.

Of the way Oswald would let himself be manhandled every time they fought. Would let squeeze his wrists like vices, splay his hand on his chest and push, pin him to the wall…

Of the way he always exposed his throat like he was _begging_ Jim to mark it, claim what was_.._.

“I’m ridiculous.” He dragged his free hand down his face and grunted self-deprecatingly. “You agree, I suppose?”

The cat only stared at him intensely. When Jim shook his head in dismay, the stray twisted away from his hand and climbed into his lap like Jim’s body was familiar territory, _its _prized possession. Jim looked down at the delicate black head against his belly, momentarily stunned.

Then the cat went about nuzzling the thin line of exposed skin between the hem of his shirt and his belt, and Jim picked it up in his arms. The claws felt like tiny daggers in his forearms, but he held on to the feisty beast as he made his way towards the bedroom.

“Come on, kitty. Those are games you’re not allowed to play… No, stop that immediately, or I toss you in the bath.”

The cat settled down immediately, and Jim had the strangest thought that the stray could understand his intentions, if not the worlds themselves. Gotham _had _seen weirder things, and he’d sit in the front row more often than he’d cared.

“You’re a cunning one, aren’t you?” He scratched the cat behind the ears and was rewarded by a satisfied purr. “Must be why I can’t get rid of you.”

When the cat planted his claws in his arm once more, it felt more like a plea than a threat. Jim splayed his hand at the back of its neck and wondered at the luscious texture of its fur. Wild animals who kept to back alleys usually didn’t retain a silky hide very long. This one, though… Unique in every way.

“You’re so soft. I could pet you for hours. You’d like that, I suppose?”

He rubbed the cat’s little nose. The stray darted out its tiny pink tongue and dragged it between two knuckles, all the while watching him with those uncanny blue eyes so similar to Oswald’s.

“Time to go to bed, kitty.”

*

“Does it sneak on you in the morning?”

Jim handed one of the steaming mugs to Harvey and thought back to yesterday morning. He’d been jerking off in the shower, revisiting a heated dream full of soft hands and clever repartees, when the cat had materialized on the bath ledge farthest from the water spray and stared at his groin. Needless to say, he’d almost given himself a concussion scrambling for cover like a virginal preteen. He sipped at his own mug of coffee to hide a blush. It wasn’t like he’d done something wrong, thinking of a man he should certainly not be thinking about… and besides, the cat was probably unfazed by this new body part on display. Still, Jim felt weird about the whole thing. The watching had been creepy, sure, but very cat-usual. His own reaction to the witness, though…

He’d reacted like it had been another man catching him masturbating.

Perhaps he needed more sleep. All-nighters weren’t so easy to pull now that he was pushing forty.

He sank down in his chair and shook his head. “No,” he lied, and took another sip of scalding hot coffee. “Not that kind.”

Harvey leaned back and propped his booted feet on his desk. Jim had long ago abandoned the idea of commenting on that habit.

“Does it, I don’t know, try to claw your eyes out when you’re not giving it high-shelf milk fast enough?”

The answer was just too complicated for Jim to bother with anything more than a shrug. Harvey didn’t seem deterred and merely fiddled with the hem of his tie, where a dark stain of _something_ made the red appear brownish. Ketchup, maybe.

“How about hairballs? Vomited any in your bed recently?”

Jim shook his head, amusement piercing through his unease. “It’s very clean.”

“How about mewling your face off at four in the morning?”

The cat did sleep in his bed, but it was well-mannered, to the extent where Jim didn’t mind all the black hair slowly gathering near his pillow. “Nope.”

“Break anything valuable?”

Was his mind still valuable these days? “Not yet?”

“Then it’s not a real cat,” Harvey declared, emphasizing his conclusion with a wide motion of his arm that sent a few droplets of coffee airborne. “Get real, partner. It’s not a pet you need, it’s to get laid.”

Jim narrowed his eyes and scoffed, firmly _not _thinking of Oswald bent over his desk, which was his new preferred solution to _not _thinking about Oswald dead. “How do you know I don’t?”

Harvey just arched a brow. “Seriously, buddy? I can tell. Easy as pie: there’s that stick up your ass again.”

Jim picked up a folder at random. “Fuck you, Harvey.”

“Is that a proposition? Because if it is, I’ve got to say that-”

With an exasperated _hmpf, _Jim unhooked the pen from the folder and flicked it at Harvey’s head.

*

Jim yawned and rubbed at his eyes, not even glancing at his phone. It was a fine Saturday morning, his first day off since the last ice age at the very least, and he had every intention of lounging around and have some quality time with his left hand. He was hard enough to pound nails, and it had nothing to do with that hot dream about Oswald in a pair of black lace panties. He missed that sinful mouth of his. He really liked to hear Oswald talk, even when it was circumvoluted lies and exaggerated greetings.

He really hoped Oswald was fine, wherever he was. And that he would come back soon.

What he would do then, he didn’t know yet, but his hand was already on his dick as his mind provided him with a close-up of the mobster’s face, eyes wide and lips parted, cheeks flushed prettily, a wanton _James_ just on the tip of his tongue…

He remembered the cat then. Let go of his cock and shifted to his side, expecting to see his flatmate do some lazing of its own.

The cat wasn’t there. The cat wasn’t fucking there, but a certain someone was, and Jim’s brain flatlined at once.

“Cat got your tongue, James?

Jim blinked once. Twice. Tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Since when did the impossible in Gotham spooked him? Never mind the explanation: Oswald was alive and breathing, _safe_, in Jim’s bed, for fuck’s sake. What more could he ask?

“I’d say he’s out of the bag,” Jim said roughly, still very much aware of his little situation down south. His cock had deflated a little at the shock, but Oswald’s closeness, and the sensual cast of his features highlighted by the sun spilling on his pale skin, caused it to throb and fill all over again.

“Can’t make head nor tail of what’s going on, can you, James?”

Jim wasn’t sure what to say. What he knew for a fact was that he planned to enjoy his day off, and having Oswald in his bed was a plus as far as he was concerned. As long as there weren’t gunshots going off in the corridor, he might as well roll with the dream become reality…

… and roll on his back quite literary, because Oswald was a determined son of a bitch no matter what form he took and had apparently decided that pining Jim to the bed and straddling his hips was what was going to happen on Jim’s day off before breakfast.

“It seems to me we’ve got a situation, detective.”

Jim meant to pull Oswald into a hug, but the mobster crawled back just out of reach, and snaked a hand under the blankets to tug at Jim’s cock expertly. A gasp tumbled from Jim’s lips, quickly followed by a moan when those clever fingers added more pressure. Oswald’s blue eyes (the same eyes) were on him, as steady as the hand on his cock, and there was a storm brewing in them. Jim felt both like some fragile leaf fated to be torn to shreds and the lightning crossing the darkening sky of intense blue eyes, an intrinsic part of this storm.

His heart jumped into his mouth and stayed there.

“I have every intention on finding out who did this to me,” Oswald said firmly, leisurely stroking him, watching Jim watching the fully hard dick standing proud against his pale belly. Of course Oswald was naked, and of course he was even prettier than in Jim’s wildest dreams. “You’re quite horny, aren’t you?”

“Oswald,” Jim choked, and threw his head back as those long fingers squeezed so just around his glans, the touch sure and scorching hot. A thumb swept over his slit, gathering precum. “What- How do-”

“I’d say you’ve got plenty on your hands right now, detective. Close that case, and I might let you _question _me afterwards. What do you say?”

With his free hand, he gestured at his own cock, pretty and pink and uncut.

Jim nodded, cock twitching, and brought Oswald down for a searing kiss. The sound the mobster let out when Jim licked at his bottom lip reminded him of a purr, but felines were the very last thing on Jim’s mind as Oswald proceeded to drive him crazy in the very best way.


End file.
